


Remember, Autumn

by Nightmist



Category: Final Fantasy XIV
Genre: Fluff, Friendship, Gen, M/M, Other, basically fluff, emotions are hard petting cats is easy, fluff is not my brand but here it is
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-04
Updated: 2020-01-04
Packaged: 2021-02-27 04:36:03
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 786
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22121185
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Nightmist/pseuds/Nightmist
Summary: A short bit of childhood friendship cuteness/fluff between the Azure Dragoon and the Lord Commander, or, when you're emotionally hopeless, a cat is as good as a hug
Relationships: Aymeric de Borel & Estinien Wyrmblood
Comments: 2
Kudos: 20





	Remember, Autumn

**Author's Note:**

> Although meant as a bit of background for something longer I'm working on, this bit can stand alone, and be cute. Plus uh... I... wrote a thing? That's a whole coherent scene and I'm... posting a thing...?
> 
> I'm probably possessed or something, but hopefully someone enjoys it.

In another time, the high stone walls of this garden will help keep out blisteringly cold winds and arctic chill. In this one, however, they seem to be mostly serving to collect the curling skeletons of autumn leaves on a blustery day into drifted piles in the corners and to cast deep shadows over the dried stalks of flowers and vines where the afternoon sunlight comes down at a low angle. It would not be considered an unpleasant day, although that fact is less apparent in the darkness of a corner containing an arched stone trellis and a small fountain that also holds the seated form of a young elezen boy, still a little short of the growth spurt that comes with adolescence. Feathery black curls cropped in a wide mop popular this season shade his down-turned face as he picks up pebbles from where he sits at the base of the fountain, then tosses them into the water with his face set into a scowl, as if he were actually condemning each one to the bottom of the sea. 

The door to the house creaks open and a second boy emerges, a somewhat battered looking old tomcat clutched in one arm. The mouser bears a look of exceedingly long-suffering tolerance, as if this is not an unfamiliar predicament, its tabby striped tail flicking but minimally, his ears notched from old fights for territory. The lad carrying him is skinny and comes close to having the same sense of being tattered, although someone has made the effort to cut his striking silver hair in the same rather dramatic style of the other denizen of the garden, even if his clothes are of much simpler make and quality. Father than looking around, he heads for the corner with the fountain as if from long-standing habit.

On arrival, he crouches down next to the darker haired child, studying the way he's curled in on himself, practically radiating the youthful misery of embarrassment and isolation. His sharp features are sympathetic as he then holds out the cat, now clutched in both hands, in a clear offering. The tabby dangles in his grip, still implacable and calm, as if being treated like a security blanket by rough and tumble ruffians and lordlings is just a fact of life. "I thought you'd be out here. He's the bastard, saying things like that. I made sure he won't anymore." The garden's original occupant looks up at that, already reaching to take the tomcat, who he settles into his lap, starting to stroke over its ears. The old creature purrs loudly.

When the dark haired boy speaks, his voice is scandalized and worried, " _Estinien!_ You can't keep trying to beat people up for saying things. Mother is going to tell Ser Alberic you're a bad influence and you won't be allowed to visit anymore!" He pulls the cat a bit closer, the creature making a slightly grumpy noise at being moved, claws digging into the boy's clothing. He's not yet as adept at appearing chastising as he thinks he is, however, a trace of gratitude in his eyes at this expectation of his friend's willingness to rise to his defense.

Estinien scowls and crouches on the balls of his heels a short distance away, scolding right back, "I said he won't call you a bastard any more, not that I beat him up. I know better'n to piss your mom off again. You think I want sent to get my hair cut so I'll look like a 'proper young man instead of a wild creature' again next season?" He pauses, pondering the immensity of this threat. Apparently, he was less than enthused to be made over in style. "I told Master Noriterel I'd heard some of the boys using some words I didn't know, and I asked if he'd tell me what they meant. And picked some I knew he'd get real upset I learned, then when he got all fired up, told him 'where I'd heard them'." By the time he's finished relaying this story, his grin has turned into a wolfish smile that shows off his teeth. "See, Aymeric, I am trying to learn to behave in polite society."

The boy who will, in another time, lead the city in which he sits, relaxes at his friend's words and moves a bit more into the afternoon sunlight. The two remain there for some time, talking of less consequential matters, and encouraging the old cat to chase a broken stalk of yarrow swept over the ground, the day's troubles forgotten. The future will bring new ones, but for today, there is sun and companionship, and the crisp fall air, frozen in time.


End file.
